


Try as You Might

by sksdwrld



Series: Asterisk [31]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, thought process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:26:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot had made the mistake of reaching out to a Malone. Never again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try as You Might

Elliot didn't realize how long he'd been reading and re-reading Kallum Malone's forum response until he heard a key turn in the lock. He jerked in place, realizing that the whole condo was dark, but he was too stiff to hustle up.

"Elliot?" There was confusion and concern in Paul's voice. "Elliot, what's wrong?"

The lights came on too fast and Elliot made a helpless, mousey squeak as he covered his eyes. Then Paul was beside him, leaving his briefcase on the floor and squeezing Elliot's bicep too tightly with one hand, the other supporting the small of his back.

"Fuck," Elliot croaked and rubbed his face. "I'm fine. I'm sorry, I got caught up in this shit."

There was a pause and then, "You're not fine. You still have your blazer from work on. It's after eight. That means you've been here for almost four hours." Elliot didn't have an appropriate response so he shrugged and reached for the bottle of Scotch he'd pulled from the cabinet hours before. Paul tugged it away from him then turned Elliot's chin, forcing him to look up. "Elliot...how much have you had?" His face dropped and he kissed Elliot, probably attempting to guess by the aroma on his lips.

"Hardly any." Elliot got up and pushed his tablet toward Paul. "I keep forgetting it's there."

"Go get undressed," Paul instructed, loosening his tie and reaching for the tablet. Elliot had barely gotten his pants off when Paul arrived, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with a frown. "Who is this?"

"Kallum Malone," Elliot said. "Marshall's brother. The one on the news. The one who was..."   
,  
Paul's eyes flicked up and his lips thinned. "Did you take a Xanax?"

Elliot hauled his shirt over his head, loosely folding it before dropping it in the hamper. "I don't need one. I just...I feel really bad-sad, not anxious. And I feel compelled to respond. I know what it's like to be angry and in search of answers. Marshall has said before though, that this kid is delicate, and I've already upset him. I don't want to hurt him more than I already have. I don't want to send him into a spiral and then have Matt show up on our doorstep."

"Oh, fuck Matt Malone," Paul scowled and rolled his eyes, then gestured to the tablet as he laid it down on the top of the dresser. "And this shithead."

"Paul, he's a kid. He's younger than Aedan-"

"This kid is nothing like Aedan. This kid is a disrespectful little asshole who could really benefit from some discipline." Paul handed Elliot a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and then started to take off own clothes.

"He has BPD, like Eddie. And PTSD, from the trauma of the rape. How can you even say something like that?" Elliot argued. Paul sighed and fell silent.

As Paul hung his things up in the closet, Elliot perched on the edge of the bed. "And he's not wrong, you know? I was a dick about Marshall -to Marshall- for years. It doesn't matter that I was paralyzed by fear, just that stubborn refusal to try won out over everything else. I let another man raise my son, and you know something? That's not even the part I'm ashamed of, because, despite the odds, he did a really good job. What really bothers me is that in trying not to damage Marshall with my influence, I damaged him by withholding it, and in turn, he's hurt someone else. And- there really isn't anything I can do about it."

"Elliot, you can't beat yourself up over that. What's done is done, and besides, you've repaired things with Marshall as best you could. We all make mistakes. We all have regrets. I would have loved to be there for Aedan more, but some things you just have no control over." Paul tugged on pair of sweats and a t shirt, stretched, and then dug a t shirt out for Elliot as well. "Marshall is responsible for his own relationships, and while you may have influenced his decisions, they were still his to make. This kid can't blame you for that unless he's willing to hold Daniel responsible for the way you treated Marshall. I mean, that's just how it is."

Elliot rubbed his face for a moment, sighing when Paul tugged him up and into an embrace. "I'm a complete asshole..."

"You're not, Elliot. "

"I am. I-"

"You know I don't think that's true and you know I don't care what anyone else thinks either. The people that really know you can see past that wall you throw up as a defense mechanism," Paul interrupted, giving him a little shake. Elliot made a face when he was through and opened his mouth to argue the merits of his self-worth, but Paul kept right on talking. "Look, I'm really sorry, but could we not do this right now? I love you, but I'm tired, and hungry. Could you maybe just accept it at face value for fifteen, twenty minutes while we make and eat dinner? I promise we can pick up afterwards and I'll go ten rounds with your super ego if I have to."

Elliot closed his eyes, swallowed, and nodded, mentally picking up his pieces and stuffing them back together. He didn't feel like dinner. He couldn't eat when his soul wanted vindication for Kallum's accusations, but he'd occupy his hands with making salad while the gears turned in his head because Paul had asked him to.

You say you know my fucking pain. You know what it feels like to be rejected over and over by someone who was supposed to love you? Of feeling like you did something wrong just by being born? Tell me when you were 7 did you often wonder what you did to make someone hate you? And not being able to think of a reason you assume you're just a fucking horrible piece of shit?

Elliot's birth had been a mistake. He was an unaborted fetus that grew into a child, so loathed by its own mother that she gave him away, not just once but twice, because the first arrangement had apparently been too pleasant. She'd sold him for a bottle of gin and a handful of petty cash. At four, Elliot had had a net worth of a hundred bucks, and he'd always figured his depreciation of value was pretty steep. After all, at nineteen, he hadn't had anything of worth. No diploma, no marketable skill to speak of, not his virginity, and certainly not his mental faculties.

He'd been rejected by foster care in favor of psychiatrists who thought he was delusional, rejected by his housemates at the rehabilitation home who thought he was full of shit, rejected by one of his only friends because, in a moment of indiscretion, put his faith in the wrong woman. He was rejected by his peers who thought he was strange, rejected by man after man who couldn't deal with his baggage, rejected by his own family for failure to live up to their expectations.

Until he was nineteen, he'd been perfectly content with his life, but then it had completely fallen apart and he spent years wondering what he'd done to make his mother take him away in the dark of the night; wondering what he'd done to deserve years of brainwashing and imprisonment, what he'd done to warrant such a miserable life on the outside. Elliot was fifty two years old and he was still insecure, on edge, and anxious. Elliot was trolling internet forums for social interaction and enduring the deconstruction of his life by an eighteen year old who thought that he was a horrible piece of shit, and he wasn't even wrong. Elliot had managed to fuck up the life of someone he'd only briefly met but was tangentially related to him. It was just further proof that everything Elliot touched turned to shit. Everyone he cared about, he disappointed.

"Elliot?" Paul's hands closed over his and Elliot jumped in surprise. "I'm sorry, it appears that I underestimated how much you were bothered by this. I can finish up. Do you want to tell me what's on your mind?"

Elliot looked down at a pile of lettuce that he'd torn into tiny shreds, then he looked up at Paul. "Actually, I think I'm going to take a Valium and go lie down. Is that okay?"

"Sure Sweetheart, whatever you need," Paul replied carefully. That concerned look was back on his face. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Elliot balled his fist to his mouth and shook his head. Tears threatened but didn't spill. "I'm not, but I will be. I just need to apologize and maybe he'll see I didn't mean it, I didn't mean to hurt him. I just wanted to help. I thought I could help..."


End file.
